


Will of Naga

by Bhelryss



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, background named characters, ghost!libra for the major character death, mostly implied one-sided romance, naga is a full on goddess not just a very powerful divine dragon, uh. right! gender neutral robin, which will be Romance in the last chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 12:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17386592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: Ghost!Libra auLeaving his axe on the ground, Libra stumbles onwards, numbness radiating out from his heart to leave his mind peaceful and empty. He pauses at a ridge, a day and a night after - after, and watches as two armies clash below him. Above on the cliffs, the person he and his brothers had come to save.





	1. Chapter 1

Libra lays face down on coarse sand, the dust of the desert in his nostrils and his mouth as dry as the the sand under his hands. His hair falls into his eyes as he slowly pushes himself up from the ground, and he feels hurt in a way that resonates deep in his bones and sears across his back when he tries to pin down why he is in pain. He looks around him, and his heart shatters to see blood soaked sands and the bodies of his brothers. 

He is alone, he is the last.

Leaving his axe on the ground, Libra stumbles onwards, numbness radiating out from his heart to leave his mind peaceful and empty. He pauses at a ridge, a day and a night after - after, and watches as two armies clash below him. Above on the cliffs, the person he and his brothers had come to save. Duty and purpose pull him forward, and he misses crashing into blue hair and blue eyes and a sword glinting in the desert sun by a hair. 

There’s a desperate pinch to Chrom’s gaze as he questions Libra, but that look in his eyes is directed onwards and upwards in moments. Libra follows in his wake, his fingers slipping over an acquired axe shaft, his mind registering the delay as his fingers  _ going through the shaft _ , as he struggles to bend them towards the purpose of watching Chrom’s back. Holding his axe has never been harder, but Libra perseveres. This is important, this is his purpose, he has to do these things.

Libra is there when Chrom lets the fire in him gutter out. He is alone, but for Libra, who is silent even when walking over shifting sands, and he tips his head up to the night sky, and his shoulders shake. Quiet as a ghost, Libra lays a light hand on Chrom’s shoulders, twinned personal sorrow and sympathy reaching up to catch him by the throat.

Night passes and the sun rises to Libra, awake as he has been all night, resting his hand on Chrom’s hip as the prince sleeps. Untired, Libra thinks of this stolen moment of peace as a brief respite from the storms of grief that will undoubtedly swallow the both of them whole. Chrom’s head pillowed on Libra’s shoulder has quieted his despair and chased away some of the numbness. 

It’s a sort of peace, isn’t it? Libra wonders, tilting his head to press a cheek to the top of Chrom’s head. The touch is light, and doesn’t disturb Chrom at all. Anchored to this place by the warmth of Chrom’s head on his shoulder, Libra contemplates staying with Chrom, when he and his people go back to Ylisse. The sands of Plegia hold nothing for him anymore, not with his brothers gone. His whole order wiped out in a single fight, surprised by Grimaleal and outnumbered badly. 

When Chrom wakes up he does so quickly. Shifting almost instantly from peaceful sleep to stressed awareness. The pinch to his gaze returns, and Libra nearly removes his hand from Chrom’s hip, but keeps himself still as Chrom pulls back on his own. For a moment it’s clear that Chrom had forgotten he’d fallen asleep in the open, but then he pulls away from Libra with purpose. 

“Sorry,” Libra whispers, “I didn’t want to wake you.” It was supposed to have been a sort of mercy, but Libra sees now that it might have been cruel to leave Chrom to whatever his dreams had showed him. Chrom nods, and for the slightest of moments in the yellow light, looks lost.

“It’s fine,” he says, voice gravelly and hoarse. It’s not fine, though, that much is clear. The sun rises fully, the bright blue sky an eyesore against Libra’s aching heart and the ever present, lancing pain between his shoulders, and Chrom’s army marches home. Libra follows along because what else is there left for him in Plegia? And Prince Chrom had been kind, despite both their wounded hearts. 

Chrom pauses at the border, and shifts enough to turn a quarter of the way back towards Plegia. Libra is stopped, a stone’s throw away, and looks bewildered. “I have to stay,” Libra says, eyes sad. Chrom’s heart does not lurch, because it is wounded and each heart beat already feels like a taxing chore, but his stomach does turn uneasily. 

He does not want to lose a comrade so quickly.

“My brothers…” The fact that he  _ cannot _ physically take one more step is more pressing than either of those things. It fills him with fear, and instead of owning up to it he says mildly, sorrowfully, “I can’t leave them.” Chrom nods slowly, like he hears but can’t understand.

“Come to Ylisse after, if you can. You’ll have a place with us.” Chrom says, just as slowly. When he turns back towards Ylissetol and begins walking, Libra’s fear shakes through his shoulders. If he could, he would chase after Chrom, chase after a form of purpose.

He stands there, at the edge of his limit, and watches the army march away, until they are gone from his sight. And Libra turns his head to the sky, painful sorrow hooked around the burning pain across his shoulders, and the world fades out around him, and his consciousness dissolves into dust.


	2. Chapter 2

Chrom steps into Plegia, determination to defeat Grima burning in his gut, and Libra wakes up. His shoulders sting distantly, as though it’s an old injury stretched uncomfortably, and his heart doesn’t ache. He gasps, drawing air into his lungs desperately, breathing again. He stares at his hands, uncomprehendingly, as the sun sinks below the horizon. 

He swears, only to freeze like he expects a swatting hand to come down on top of his head. Then he looks at his hands again, and almost expects to see through them. “I’m dead.” This doesn’t hurt like he expects it would, the admission of it. Even the loss of his brothers feels different, like he’d been healing from the loss while he’d been away from the world. 

He gets to his feet, marvelling at the way the dirt grits into his fingertips, at the feeling of wind in his hair. And feels, for a moment, like he is small, and protected, as a warm hand alights on his shoulder and a whisper sings against the shell of his ear. Chrom needs him, he knows, when the intangible, unmistakable presence of Naga fades away.

Turning his feet confidently in the direction that feels right, Libra begins to walk. Without tiring, the hot sun and the cold moon don’t bother him too much. He walks until the edge of Chrom’s camp comes into view. They must be very close, because the guards at the perimeter aren’t startled to see him, only wary. As they should be, because it is nearly the midnight hour, and they must have seen his approach in the evening light.

Chrom is there, a severe and dark haired swordswoman at his left, along with the perimeter guards who turn their lances to him. Libra has no axe, and his most distinguishing clothing (the monk’s cowl he’d been wearing when they’d first met and then parted) had not manifested with him. The dust beneath his feet is not disturbed, even though he can feel where some sticks to his sweaty skin. “Lord Chrom,” Libra greets, raising a hand in greeting. (He wants to giggle, because that hand is not transparent. He breathes and his heart beats, and though he is a ghost, he is quite the substantial one.)

Frowning, Chrom raises a hand to return the greeting. He must not remember Libra, as short as their time together had been. “I am Libra,” Libra prompts quietly, closing his eyes briefly as he brings his hand to his heart. “We met on your last time in Plegia, though I could not return to Ylisse with you.” He sees the moment the right memory clicks into place for Chrom, when he smiles broadly, and crosses the distance between them.

“Libra! Yes, yes, of course!” He smiles, and Libra smiles, and then Chrom beckons him forward. “Come, let’s get you settled.” In an attempt to be disarming, because he’s only a helpful ghost tied to Plegia’s sands, Libra smiles softly at the swordswoman. Her eyes are dark, and her face stone, but she dips her head in greeting as he passes, and falls in behind them.

Being this form of alive again is so easy, especially when Chrom is here, with that charming smile. Libra lets the living sweep him along, and lets Chrom explain the layout of the tents. “How’d you know how to find us?” Chrom asks, pausing in front of the tent that Libra will be borrowing, despite his lack of need for sleep. “It’s been years,” he says. They pause, and Libra thinks of staring up at the sky while Chrom slept, holding him, and Libra wonders if Chrom remembers it, or if the grief has walled out much of those memories.

“Naga told me the way,” Libra says, simply. He wonders if that comes across as too-religious. Even a monk would hardly believe the life Libra has been half-living. While he breathes he cannot remember being dead, but as he breathes he knows that he  _ is _ dead. He pauses, because Naga did not tell him what Chrom was attempting. “But not...what have you set out to do, here.” He pauses, unsure of himself, and not willing to ask. It doesn’t matter, because he’s here, and he’s here for Chrom. 

On Naga’s wishes, sure, but he had met a kind, if sorrowful, man in the desert who had had room enough amongst his people for a lively ghost, so he’s  _ really _ here on Chrom’s behalf. 

There’s no pinch to Chrom’s expression when his smile drops, which is a relief to something Libra didn’t know he was dreading. “We’re on our way to Plegia’s capitol. King Validar has promised us Sable.” He looks away, face turned towards a sound from further into the camp, “I doubt he means it truly, and Robin and I expect an ambush.” 

“But you need the gemstone anyway,” Libra murmurs thoughtfully. “If you would have me, Lord Chrom, I would aid you in any way I can.” Chrom’s agreement gives Libra true cause to smile, and they part ways. Chrom to his own tent for rest, hopefully, and Libra to the solitude of his own. The night pulls long, and by dawn Libra itches to stretch his legs, the confines of his tent feeling more like a prison (or perhaps a coffin) with every passing hour.

Libra walks to the edge of camp, face turned towards the rising sun, and kneels. A moment of silence, maybe even prayer, in the open air and in the light of dawn, soothes the irritation of being trapped in a canvas bubble for nearly six hours. Without the need or urge to sleep, Libra had only too much time to reflect on his quarters.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting the strengthening sunlight wash over his face, feeling the press of his knees into the dirt, and breathes. The sound of someone approaching barely disturbs him, and he’s somehow not surprised when Chrom folds into a seat beside him. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, Brother Libra.” It brings a slight smile to his face, and Libra cracks open an eye to sneak a peek at the Exalt.

“Not at all, Lord Chrom.” Libra says, feeling free to speak. “And, it’s just Libra. After...after, I no longer felt called to practice my faith in such a way.” No, Naga had called him to her side, and then sent him back. “But old habits are hard to break, and I find that even a moment of silence in the mornings gives me solace.” 

Chrom’s exhale is loud in the silence of the morning, only broken as the noise of a waking camp behind them rises in time with the sun. 

“Would you care to spend a moment with me, before the camp breaks?” Libra asks, suddenly keen for Chrom’s company.  He tries to say it mildly, but some of the emotion behind his question leaks into the words. Even dead, he cannot help the warm embarrassment that colors his face. 

“Ah, yeah, that sounds nice.” Chrom folds into a seated position, legs crossed and elbows on his knees, and exhales a deep breath in a  _ whoosh _ . Libra can’t help but notice, even from the corner of his eye, that the sun brings out the gold sheen of his hair. Pulled from his peaceful silence, Libra spends the moment they are quiet together watching Chrom. 

He breathes, Chrom breathes, and Libra feels compelled to pray. Glad for this company, glad for the chance to breathe air amongst other people, Libra prays his thanks. And the moment comes to a close, as someone comes up behind them. “Lord Chrom,” Frederick says, after clearing his throat. 

“Time’s up,” Chrom mutters, getting up from his spot amicably. Libra smiles, a small and fond thing, to hear Chrom’s grumbling. “All right, let’s get camp packed up, Frederick.” He declares, reaching out a hand to help Libra up from his kneeling. Chrom’s smile to Libra is a big, and easy thing, as charismatic as he is. Libra’s smile widens in response, and he follows behind as Chrom and Frederick walk briskly back to camp.

It’s a beautiful day to be alive, or...well. Libra’s not complaining.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning dawns again, and the sun greets a kneeling Libra as it rises. They will have no more mornings after this one, Chrom has mentioned that they will be entering Castle Plegia by high noon at the earliest. He wonders if he will be allowed to follow Chrom and his people back to the border, or if Naga will call him back once whatever treachery awaits Chrom passes. The yellow light has no answers, but then he never expected one.

Chrom does not sit with him this morning, and Libra misses the company. It had made a pleasant morning yesterday, and he had thought he would have a few more mornings left to him. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just one that echoed around his heart in a lonely manner. (It made him wonder what he was returning to, in Naga’s care, in the afterlife. He couldn’t remember, not while he played at living, but perhaps if he was feeling lonely now, it wasn’t too bad. Libra does at least feel a little guilty for neglecting that part of his theology, because he cannot even recall what he and the monks had believed in the first place.)

The castle looms up on the cliffs before them, and a bone-white mass at the base, one that makes Libra uneasy, throws a glare that makes his eyes ache. The reason for the unease is apparent soon enough, as sunrise paints detail until he recognizes it as a  _ massive _ skull. It screams at him in a way he doubts he could explain, like it exudes wrongness.  _ Fell dragon indeed _ , he thinks, all wide eyes and and unconscious shivers. 

Maybe the holy books that whispered that Grima was a tainted Divine weren’t so far fetched after all, if even the skull was repellant.

_ Libra you are a fool _ , Libra thinks, foreboding riding at his collar. Chrom pauses their procession in the very shadow of bleached bone, circulating through the people and giving them big smiles as they prepare, everyone knowing by the looks that something is up. The supposed ambush that Chrom had mentioned, perhaps.  _ You have no weapon _ , he chastises himself, _ and no battlefield to steal from _ .

Robin circulates too, with whispered orders. They lock eyes with Libra, looking him over. “Stick close to Vaike,” jabbing a thumb at the blond, shirtless man stretching his arms. “He’ll make sure you get a weapon when the time comes.” Not if. Libra drifts towards Vaike, though his eyes search the assembled group to keep track of Chrom.

The king is not flustered looking, and Libra’s anxiety eases to see Chrom so unworried. No worry to his gaze, his smile is still easy. It occurs to Libra too late, the gates of Castle Plegia open before them, that he should have given Chrom a blessing. For luck, if nothing else. It would have eased his own heart. He would give it after, he resolved, before Naga called him back.

They wait, while Chrom and Robin move ahead, to meet with King Validar. And then they are all rushing forward, Chrom with Falchion unsheathed and the Fire Emblem on his arm, a shield, while Robin waves them all onwards. Vaike does, in fact, have an extra axe, one that Libra identifies immediately as something he could channel his aptitude for magic through. 

He and Vaike get separated almost immediately, though. Libra finds himself squinting for sorcerers throwing dark magic from out of view. Losing his focus, a Plegian swordsman gets him while he’s distracted. A blade drags a line across his shoulders, but the pain doesn’t come. Libra doesn’t bleed. He turns a frustrated frown on the swordsman, who pales in the face of Libra’s immunity, and Libra raises his axe to call a bolt of lightning down on the enemy.

Irate, because this is how he died the first time, Libra calls another bolt to finish the swordsman, and goes back to looking for the sorcerers. What he does instead, is find himself pulling their fire by accident, having outstripped his more cautious comrades.  _ Mire _ pours over him, dark intent scouring his body for weaknesses to exploit, weaknesses that it will not find.

Someone behind calls his name, but this is a job for no one except him. Anyone else would be injured, would actually fear any of these spells washing over them. He can do this. He  _ is _ doing this, until a hand grips his forearm and drags him back, out of range. “Are you nuts? Libra,” Chrom spits, angry and worried and pushing him towards Lissa. “You could have been killed!”

“I wouldn’t have,” Libra tries to deny, even as the Lissa runs a diagnostic test on him. “I...have a very high resistance to magic,” he lies. It goes over about as well as he delivers it, and Chrom squints at him sourly, until Lissa finishes. 

“He’s fine.” She confirms, about to turn to the next person who needs her attentions. Chrom’s face clears, and Libra sighs with relief, and then Chrom is being tugged away by Robin. “Don’t do anything stupid,” Lissa demands of Libra, and Libra must flush with his intent to dive right back into playing target, because she squints at him sourly, and Libra really does marvel at how alike she is to her brother.

“I won’t,” he says, truthfully, even though she’s already turning away. Anything he does now can’t be stupid, because it won’t affect him. He’s already dead, what’s the worst that could happen? And then he’s alone again, in a bubble of inactivity. Libra forges forward-

The attacks stop. Somehow, Chrom and Robin had found them a way out. Libra lingers behind, covering their exit in case any other enemies decide to follow, only turning towards escape himself once the last of the living make it through. No casualties, and Libra prays to Naga with his thanks. But it seems he’s prayed too soon, if the stricken look on Robin’s face is any sign. 

He misses the confrontation in the grasses, he misses the way Lucina hesitates and the way Chrom comforts. Libra has no idea what happened, but he knows something  _ did _ happen. And  _ whatever _ happened, whatever Naga had brought him back for, is not over, because he’s still there, when the sun has set and the Shepherds and their allies have made camp. It’s enough of a surprise that Libra seeks out a peaceful moment after everything has finally settled, kneeling at the edge of camp, close to his tent.

The chill is palpable, though it doesn’t bother him overmuch. Such things troubled the living, though Libra himself was...troubled, by the living. Robin’s absence from the bustle and hustle of the camp is...concerning. Libra doesn’t know the tactician, but it  _ felt _ like it would be out of character to hide inside their tent. And Chrom looked troubled, and Lucina, and well. He didn’t know what to think. 

Libra tried to use this peaceful moment to think, and to recenter himself. He wasn’t living, and didn’t need the sleep or rest, but he couldn’t stay out all night or else it would bring him unwanted attention. It was quiet though, and he drew his knees up to his chest and kept his eyes outward. He missed his brothers, missed the comfort of their monastery and the peace of stained glass throwing colors onto the pews. He wished for a return to simpler times, and for a way to keep Chrom’s forehead free of stress lines. Maybe it was silly, to care so much for someone he barely knew.

Sighing, Libra shifted and then resettled. Even if he could sleep, Libra wasn’t sure he’d have managed it. It sounded like the fell dragon was well on His way to being resurrected, and it was up to them...up to them to halt the rituals. Libra rubbed at his forehead and groaned quietly, he had  _ no _ idea how to help with something this big. 

He’d only been a monk, not a warrior or a strategist, not anything or anyone who might have been equipped to deal with this. He hadn’t even been a particularly good monk, given the holes in his grasp of theology. Libra was surrounded by things he could never have even dreamed of, he didn’t know what was expected of him. Where was he supposed to begin? What did Naga want him to do?

“Brother Li- Libra,” Chrom called out softly, approaching from behind. “I was told you might be out here.” The exalt sighed heavily, nearly grumbling as he lowered himself to the ground by Libra’s side. It’s, Libra is bewildered by how cute he finds it. Turning his head slightly, Chrom looks at Libra from the side, and the silence stretches between them. 

Unable to take the quiet, sick to death all of a sudden of the quiet, Libra asks, “Could I help you with something, Lord?” 

Chrom doesn’t laugh, even though his lips turn up, and shakes his head. “You can call me Chrom, Lord is what they called my father.” That lays heavy between them for a moment, and then Chrom shakes his head again. “It was suggested to me by a friend that I might find comfort in your words, Libra.” A dry chuckle, that sounds so tired. “I am...lost.”

“You know I’m not,” Libra begins, and then falters. Does it matter? No, it doesn’t. “Why do you feel lost, Chrom?” Libra asks, one leg slipping out from the circle of his arms to stretch out in the dirt. Libra wonders if it would help if he reached out to touch Chrom on the arm, or knocked a leg against his. (Though there’s a niggling doubt that perhaps, now that the sun has set and the crisis has passed for now, that he won’t be solid enough to give that comfort.)

Rubbing the back of his neck and ducking his head, Chrom shrugs. “It’s probably stupid, but…” Forcefully exhales in a hiss. “I’m bringing my people to fight for the world. Not even  _ just _ my people.” He rocks backward as if he might lean back, with his hand against the ground to support him, but then he rocks back forward. “I trust Robin with my life. With everything, but.

“How can I lead these people forward? I don’t even know if we’ll be successful, but we have to try. We  _ have _ to try.” He scratches at his nose, sniffs, and then pushes back his hair with the same hand. He’s anxious, fidgety. Plagued, assuredly, by doubts and uncertainties that war with his faith in the people around him. He still seems strong to to Libra though. Uncertainties and doubts, and Libra can still see the the strong core of him, that will serve him well through the coming trials.

“We’ll all try,” Libra agrees. He’s not sure what to say. He’s dead, there’s nothing he can lose by following Chrom to fight the Grimleal, to fight Grima Himself if they’re unlucky. He reaches out, and his hand rests firmly on Chrom’s shoulder. Chrom is warm, and breathing, and alive, and it makes Libra wistful. If he were alive, it would have been a great honor to fight with Chrom, to risk his own life for him. To know him, as the rest of his people surely do. To even - no, even if he was living that wouldn’t have been possible.

Chrom is a good man.

“It’s very telling of your character, that you worry so. It’s good.” Libra fumbles over his words, trying to turn the feelings in his heart into something Chrom might understand. “You are a good king, and a better leader, to inspire your people to follow you. If you were not, if they didn’t have faith in you, in Robin, then they would not be here with you, at the beginning of a fight for the world.”

A fight for the whole world…it’s so much. Even though Libra is dead, and a fight for the  _ world _ doesn’t affect him, it’s enough to make him anxious with the urge to do  _ something _ . He’d follow Chrom to the edge of possibility, just to ensure that  _ this _ world continues to exist. A world where Chrom lives, and Lady Emmeryn’s legacy remains, and the bones of his sect shine brightly in the light of peace, waiting for someone to come behind and build into the spaces he and his brothers left behind. 

“We all trust you to help us find a way to save ourselves. Our worlds, and yours. You are a good man, and you care, and that is what gives us all the strength to follow.”

Chrom is silent as Libra speaks softly, and eventually he sighs, and bumps his shoulder against Libra’s. Libra’s stomach twists slightly, though he thinks that should be impossible, cheeks hot as he leans back. “You’re very kind, Libra.” Chrom whispers, one arm pressed up against Libra’s. “Your words give me strength.” Libra tips his head up, so his bangs fall out of his eyes. So he doesn’t have to face Chrom, and smile so sadly at something that will happen.

“Will you spend your night out here, under the stars?” Chrom asks, when Libra cannot bring himself to respond. “It’s something you do frequently, isn’t it.” 

“Sometimes,” Libra admits. When he plays at living. He tilts his head, still looking up at the sky, and sighs. “Even when the nights are cold, the stars watch us. One of my brothers found great solace in the stars. He used to say that even when man and Naga forsake us, the stars will still wheel up into the sky, and come again the next evening. He was not the most devout of us, but he was right. The stars are constant even when everything else changes.

“It...is a comfort to me.”

They both let that lie between them for a bit, and then Chrom yawns in the middle of saying, “That’s a nice thought, I can see how that would be comforting.” He pauses, and then adds. “My sister used to say that our ancestors could watch us from the stars, when I was young. She always put it as something to keep me from misbehaving too much at night, ‘Hero-King Marth is watching you, so don’t do anything reckless’” Chrom says, pitching his voice different, in what is clearly meant to capture Lady Emmeryn’s tone of voice. “I like to think she’s doing that too, that Naga lets her do that.” 

Voice suddenly sounding tight, Chrom admits, “I miss her.” 

In the dark, Libra reaches out to take one of Chrom’s hands. He doesn’t know what to say, though he wishes he could reach into that warm, empty space in his memories that he recognizes as knowledge of what comes after, to reassure Chrom that his sister is proud of him. Instead of speaking, he holds Chrom’s hands between his own, and Chrom leans into Libra’s shoulder. 

Just before Chrom is about to fall asleep on him, Libra slowly tugs Chrom back into standing, and leads him by the hand back to Chrom’s tent, and watches wistfully as Chrom shuffles inside. And then he goes back to the edge of camp, slowly and soundlessly falls onto his knees, and watches the stars continue cycling across the sky.


	4. Chapter 4

Libra stands at Chrom’s side, watching the people stumble purposefully forwards. These were his people once, when he was young and his parents still kept him in their care. They still are his people in some ways, and that thought sits on his shoulders and leaves him unbalanced. Chrom’s expression is grim, but Lucina’s is grimmer. 

“We can’t give up.” Lucina says, and Libra can see the steel in her, the same steel that is in Chrom. She’s right, and they all know it. Frederick stands behind her like a mountain, and he nods. They are all in agreement. “Not now.” 

“Not ever.” Chrom agrees. He turns to Frederick, Libra’s eyes following, and nods sharply. “We make for the Table, Frederick. Make everyone ready.” Despite his selfish wish to stay at Chrom’s side, Libra follows Frederick back to camp. He needs to make himself ready too, though the thought of himself in armor is a little bit funny.

An axe is shoved into his hands, and Libra sighs a little. Who knew his afterlife would be so full of violence. It’s worth it though. It’s Naga’s wish that gives him Chrom’s company, so Libra can’t find it in him to complain. They give him armor, the leather kind that is very like the kind he died in. He wrinkles his nose at it, but he takes it anyway with a quiet, “Thanks.” 

He doesn’t get to be picky. (That’s for living people, he thinks with a smile.) It’s very nice of them to outfit him at all, and it gives him a warm feeling that floats gently just below his collarbones. Once he’s struggled into the armor (out of practice, he barely remembers how) he spends a long moment looking over his hands. Through life and undeath, these hands are still his.

Libra stares down twelve undead generals. It’s odd, and a little unnerving. He can see the magic holding them in place, a wicked and writhing thing. Unkind in the way it tethers bodies, not souls, to a timeless existence of violence and waiting. That shouldn’t be something he knows, but he can feel divine pressure on his shoulders, a reassurance that he will not fall to such a mockery of life. A promise, and then the presence wisps away, taking the view of magic with it.

It still leaves him shaken.

Chrom bumps elbows with him, smile serious but empowering. Libra looks at him and thinks, “yeah, this won’t stop us.” Smiling in return, Libra knocks his elbow against Chrom’s arm. The moment is quiet, and quick. Another second and Chrom is gone, cycling to the front, leading them onwards. Chrom’s smile pushes him forward the same way his purpose to foil Grima pushes him forward.

He and Lepus meet almost immediately, pushed together by circumstance and timing, and he recognizes her as if in a mirror. Her blonde hair like straw poorly hidden under her habit, her green eyes glassy but colored red by some internal, infernal fire. She takes a hit of his axe and stands as though unharmed, her retaliatory strike passes right through him. A stalemate, one that shakes him. He can’t bleed, and she won’t either. 

She can’t speak, so words pour out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he says, repeating himself over and over again. “This is no life for you.” This is no life for either of them. This is no  _ life _ , no matter how good, or bad the imitation. Libra lets his axe fall for a moment, and Lepus strikes. Holding her arm down is a struggle, but he was strong before he died and he is strong still, so he holds. “In an ideal world, neither of us would be here.” But the world is not ideal, and Libra doesn’t hold the power to kill the curse that clings to her. “I’m sorry.

“But one of us must fail, today.” The habit comes off in his hand, and Libra is reminded of no one. That makes it both harder, and easier. He lets go of her axe hand, and she raises it to strike. He hits first, and harder, and murmurs a prayer. She gasps, no air in her lungs and no inhale to fuel it, and she falls like a puppet with cut strings.

Libra hurries on.

He doesn’t have to face another fallen general. It might be a blessing, but he’s not sure, it might be a joke. Two undying, unliving people meet across a battlefield. Neither can live, but neither survive. It could be a joke. He’s not laughing.

Chrom, when Libra catches up, has blood smeared across his bare arm. Whatever wound he might have had is closed up, leaving only drying blood in its place. “She escaped us,” Chrom says, frowning. “Whatever she was stalling for, it must be done.” Robin grimaces, their hair mussed and a bruise blooming at the outside corner of their eye. 

For a moment they hesitate, but the sense of opportunities and hope slipping away is one hell of a motivation.

The barrier goes up and Libra can feel it. It rings in his ears, and it won’t let anyone pass. Trying himself would be foolish, of course, but he  _ wants _ to. Chrom and Robin alone, stranded. They are both capable, but Libra would be a fool to deny that he is concerned for them both. One more than the other, he’s loathe to admit.

He has to trust that they’ll be fine. He has to, or his distraction will be to the detriment of the people on  _ this _ side of the barrier. Chrom’s people need him, Naga’s chosen need him. Libra’s narrow focus is selfish, but that is a behavior he can correct. A behavior that he will correct. Once his face is turned away from the barrier, Libra squares his shoulders and wets his lips. Vaike bumps into him from behind, and they share a smile. 

They can do this, all of them can do this.

Grima’s rebirth sends Libra to his knees. Wide eyed, he forgets to breathe until Vaike’s elbow finds his ribs. “What the fuck,” Vaike whispers. Libra nods, because yeah. What the fuck. Well, he knows  _ what _ it is, but that doesn’t mean he can quite...understand it. Hadn’t they all worked to stop it? Did all their efforts mean nothing? 

_ Why _ would Naga bring him back, just for him to watch the world end. Is this Her will? Lucina and Libra both sent here, to this time, to fail? That seems...cruel. But maybe this is something out of Her hands. She stacked the deck, and it was them,  _ they _ were the ones who failed  _ Her _ . Still.  _ Still _ , it’s the Fell Dragon. 

What in the name of the divine are they going to do now?

The ritual’s name ripples through the army, from Lucina and Chrom to his ears. Mount Prism, a name he recognizes from sermons and studies of the religious texts. It’s not Plegian. There are no sands there his soul can tread, and that is a thought that is more of like a blow. This time,  _ again _ , where Chrom leads he can’t follow.

So when they march, Libra starts out at the front. He wants to see Chrom, before Naga calls him back. He catches a glimpse of a smile, a little but earnest thing in the midst of great stress, and then Libra slows down. He smiles at Vaike, waves to Lissa, and slows down. Nobody at the back of the army notices him slow down even more. 

Will he notice the border before he fails to cross it? If he does would it even matter? Libra pauses, and sighs. He would have liked to have followed Chrom to Mount Prism and beyond, but he is a ghost. Death tied him to Plegia, Libra can’t follow, even though he wants to.

Libra thinks, “I wish I could have seen his victory,” and then reality stutters. 

Naga drops him down on blackened scales. Off balance, Libra falls to his knees, palms slamming into the scales below. Skin to scales, he immediately knows where he must be. Nothing else would make him feel so sick, nothing short of the malice that the newborn Grima had radiated. His brain takes a few minutes to catch up to instinct, but when Libra gets back to his feet he is among friends. (Naga’s whisper in his ear as he stands, “Child of man and my power, rise and aid these who would face this fell dragon.”) 

Chrom notices him first. Libra thinks that must be skepticism tempering his welcoming smile, but he reaches for Chrom’s hand all the same. That smile draws a responding one of his own out to greet it, and Libra lets Chrom draw him in for a brief, crushing hug. “How’d you get here, by Naga? We worried when you disappeared.”

“Yeah,” Libra agrees, still queasy. “Was the transition as hard for you? I feel like I might be sick.” Chrom laughs, and even that is brief. This is hardly a time for smiles or laughs, so Libra is overly grateful and he can’t help but smile brightly right back at him.

“Yeah,” Chrom echoes. “About that rough. Are you ready, do you have a weapon? We’re going to finish this, Libra. This is it, our last chance to put him back to sleep.” He smiles, but his eyes seem pinched. Chrom pats Libra on the shoulder firmly, hand lingering there for a moment, and then he turns away. 

There are more important things that need their attention.

And they win. It’s incredible, really. The high of victory carries them all the way back to the ground. Libra struggles to keep himself present, thinking very hard about the sand that must be ground into his boots from the scales. Unlikely, but he wants to stay for just a little bit longer. He wants it so badly, he wants to see one last smile from Chrom.

Libra’s hand, as he reaches out for Chrom, is going transparent. He has substance enough to touch, enough substance to hold if he can. Chrom turns, and his eyes go a little wide. “I’m going.” Libra says, because it’s his unfortunate truth. “I’m glad to have met you, Chrom. I’m glad to have shared your battles.” Naga is calling him back, but She’s letting him have this.

He’s so glad to have this.

“I’m sorry I won’t see Ylisse at peace again,” he brings his other hand up to cradle Chrom’s, and Chrom allows it. Libra is glad for that. He smiles, and Chrom looks...horribly sad. “But I am glad to have met you.” If he could just see Chrom’s smile one more time, Libra would go without regrets.

“Will you smile?” 

Chrom doesn’t, so Libra drops his gaze. “I hope you can smile again soon.” And then he looks up, and gently drops Chrom’s hand as he steps back. Blinks once, and then sighs. In the next moment, he’s gone.


End file.
